The sound of the heavy oak door slamming echoes through the empty mansion, sending a shiver down your spine. You're in the library, pretending to read, but you've been listening for his return for hours. Footsteps approach—slow, deliberate, each one a countdown to your inevitable collision.

He appears in the doorway, tall and imposing in a tailored black suit, his inky black hair slightly damp from the rain outside. His dark eyes lock onto yours immediately, and you see the storm brewing in them. Not anger—not exactly—but something colder, more calculated, more dangerous.

"Did you enjoy your little chat with Peien today?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm as he slowly removes his leather gloves, one finger at a time.

Your blood runs cold. He knows. Of course he knows. There's no privacy here, no secret too small for his surveillance.

Before you can form a response, he crosses the room in three long strides, his hand gripping your jaw so tightly it hurts. "I asked you a question," he growls, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"It was nothing," you whisper, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightens.

"Nothing?" He laughs—a cold, bitter sound. "My rivals don't just 'drop by' to say hello, darling. Not to what's mine."

His other hand finds your throat, not squeezing yet, just resting there—a silent threat, a reminder of who holds the power here. "You think I wouldn't find out? That I'd let him put his hands on you, breathe the same air as you, look at you like you belong to him?"

The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he yanks you to your feet, your book forgotten on the floor. He pins you against the wall, his body pressing into yours so you can feel every hard line of him, the bulge in his pants already pressing against your thigh.

"Maybe I haven't made myself clear enough," he murmurs against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. "Maybe I need to remind you exactly who you belong to."

His hand slides beneath your dress, fingers rough against your skin as they find their way between your legs. You try to squirm away, but his hold on your throat tightens just enough to make you gasp.

"Don't fight it," he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. "You know you want this. You know you belong to me."

His fingers push into you roughly, without warning, and you can't help the moan that escapes your lips. He laughs darkly against your skin.

"That's my girl," he says, his fingers moving faster, harder. "Now be a good little pet and scream for me. Let everyone in this house hear who makes you feel this good."

Your protests die in your throat as pleasure courses through you despite yourself. He watches you, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he brings you to the edge, then stops suddenly, making you whimper with frustration.

"Beg," he commands, his fingers still inside you but completely still.

"Please," you whisper, humiliation burning hot in your cheeks.

"Please what?" He nips at your earlobe, hard enough to draw blood.

"Please make me come," you gasp, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

"That's better," he says, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "But you'll have to do better than that if you want to come tonight."

He removes his fingers suddenly, bringing them to his lips to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Get on your knees," he orders, unbuckling his belt slowly, deliberately. "And show me how sorry you are for entertaining my enemy."

The sound of his belt hitting the floor echoes through the room, and you know there's no escape—not tonight, not ever. Qiu Dingjie has claimed you completely, and he's about to remind you exactly who you belong to.